


Scritches, Snuggles and Naps, Oh My!

by vienn_peridot



Series: Little Petshop of Horrors [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Master/Pet, Other, pet!Drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drifter and Ratchet have a quiet evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scritches, Snuggles and Naps, Oh My!

**Author's Note:**

> 'Drifter' is Drift's pet name, the way Rodimus becomes 'Ginger' when he puts his pony gear on in Roddyhorse.

Ratchet loved these evenings.

He had uninterrupted time alone with Drift, with nothing bothering them and a guarantee of no external demands on their time or attention. First Aid and Ambulon had the Medbay, more than capable of handling anything that came in. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus had been informed in no uncertain terms if they tried to disturb their evenings together then there _would_ be repercussions.

So he got Drift all to himself, something he was selfishly glad of. The speedster was too accommodating, always putting himself and his own wants last. He was always too ready to drop his own time off and go help when Magnus or Rodimus called. Ratchet would accept this up to a point, but he’d sure as Pit put his pede down when it started becoming a bit ridiculous.

Their playtime was sacrosanct.

If there was an interruption for anything short of a universe-shattering disaster then both of them would get very, very upset and creative in their revenge.

So it was usually safe to assume that there would be _no_ interruptions.

Drift was wearing the kneepads, paw mittens and fluffy fake tail of his pet gear as he sat on his haunches, chin tilted up while Ratchet fastened a soft leather collar around the speedster’s neck. White finials tilted back and Drift purred, nudging at Ratchet’s hand when the medic finished making sure the collar was on properly. Ratchet felt his spark spin happily as Drift briefly rubbed his cheekstruts over the side of the medic’s hand.

“Good boy, Drifter.” Ratchet murmured fondly, just to see the happiness that lit Drift’s optics whenever he praised the mech.

This was the only time he could praise Drift and not have the speedster immediately dismiss it, wave it away or negate the positive words with self-deprecation and a ducked helm. He always made sure to give Drift as many complements as he could get away with during their playtime. It felt good to bring this expression to Drift’s face, a look of soft contentment that was so rare for the speedster. Drift purred, nudged Ratchet’s hand with his nasal ridge and got up to his hands and knees, heading past the medic with a little wiggle to his hips that made his tail wave in a relaxed, sweeping arc. He wandered over to the thickly padded mat that was his ‘spot’ during playtime and flopped on his side with a contented sigh.

Ratchet chuckled, went to their couch and doing the same thing, plopping onto it and sighing as the thick cushioning supported his aching frame. They had nothing specific planned for tonight and he was quite happy to relax until he or his pet thought of something to do.

“Primus below, what a week!” Ratchet declared and Drift made a rolling, drawn-out sound of agreement that sounded something like a Terran husky.

“You said it, Drifter.” The medic said, full of amusement at how Drift could put so much communication into a sound that was so utterly unlike speech.

He stretched until his spinal struts crackled and the small interlocking joints popped back into proper alignment. Drift was wriggling around on the mat, arms and legs flailing awkwardly in the air as he rubbed his back against the lumpy weave.

_He says the Greatsword clamps get itchy sometimes. Hmm…_

“Drifter.” Ratchet said firmly.

The speedster sat up and looked at him, helm tilted to one side with one finial raised and the other drooping at an angle Ratchet found frankly adorable. When he didn’t say anything else Drift gave a questioning little yip, tilting his helm the other way and switching which finial he had perked up, optics watching Ratchet’s face attentively. Ratchet’s engine purred. It felt so, _so_ good to have Drift’s undivided attention. The focus on him calmed something deep in Ratchet’s spark, a niggling fear and insecurity he never revealed to anyone, not even Drift.

_I wonder if he’s figured it out? He’s definitely not stupid._

Drift huffed impatiently through his vents, both finials pricking up and dropping back to his helm as he waited with obviously waning patience for Ratchet to explain why he’d gotten the speedster to stop itching himself. It was amusing and Ratchet fought hard to suppress a smile.

_I bet if he could move that tail he’d be thumping it like a grumpy feline._

“Drifter, up here boy.” Ratchet said, patting his chestplates with both hands to show Drift where he meant by ‘up’.

Joy and excitement spread across Drift’s faceplates and he left the mat, climbing up onto the free space beside Ratchet, resting his mittened hands and chin on the medic’s chestplate where Ratchet had indicated and looking up at the medic with wide, happy blue optics. He purred and nuzzled Ratchet’s chestplate, wiggling his way up to lick the ambulance’s jaw before settling down with a contented sigh. His finials were canted back at a relaxed angle, although Ratchet could see the small articulated plates of Drift’s back still twitching with the unrelieved itch.

With a relaxed sigh of his own Ratchet raised his hands to Drift’s backplates, gently rubbing the seams of his pet’s itchy armour and calming him. Drift moaned with outright bliss, melting under Ratchet’s touch as the purring of his engine picked up to a steady hum. His blue optics slid halfway closed as Ratchet sought every armour joint and seam on Drift’s back that he knew could trap dust and become uncomfortable, soothing the itches away.

Because Drift’s paw-mittens allowed the speedster some movement of his fingers Ratchet could feel his pet begin to knead at the glass of his chestplate and the solid plated of his side as he petted and scratched his way up and down Drift’s backplates, leaving no seam untended.

Eventually Ratchet finished with every potentially itchy part he could reach but he was far too comfortable to move or order Drift down. The speedster was a warm, comfortable weight against his side, engine purring and hands still fitfully kneading away so he switched to long, lazy strokes of his hands along smooth backplates, enjoying the soft, contented noises Drift was making.

Ratchet was half-asleep when he felt a patch of wetness on his chestplates and glanced down to see that Drift was already recharging, his ‘forepaws’ wrapped firmly around the medic’s upper arm and helm resting on the broad glass pane of Ratchet’s chest. The speedster’s lips were slightly parted and he was drooling in his sleep, creating the wet patch Ratchet could feel. Ratchet subconsciously tightened his hold on Drift a little, taking an image capture and wondering if it would be better for Drift if they moved to the berth.

 _It_ has _been one pit of a week_. _An early night might be a good idea._

It would be too much effort to wake Drift and shift to the berth, and cruel besides if Drifter had only just gone into recharge. An hoaur or two or rest first would be better and besides, this was nice. Ratchet got a happy, relaxed Drift all to himself as well as some peace and quiet; all things which were rare on the Lost Light.

Decision made, Ratchet set an internal alarm and settled in for a quiet nap with Drifter.


End file.
